


I've made myself at home in the cobwebs and the lies.

by IrisofParadise



Category: Black Widow (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisofParadise/pseuds/IrisofParadise
Summary: In which Pyotr's want for Yelena led to his ultimate demise and Yelena has some time to ponder and grieve her father figure's death.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	I've made myself at home in the cobwebs and the lies.

**Author's Note:**

> \- So, Yelena is Ukrainian, not Russian, but at the time that she was born, Ukraine was still part of the Soviet Union and therefore I feel like, to an extent, Yelena does consider herself a Russian citizen and patriot for Russia. Kind of got that idea from a friend of mine who was born in Latvia while Latvia was still part of the Soviet Union and so he considers himself to be Russian.   
> \- Although, I personally do headcanon that Yelena's father is actually Russian and her mother is Ukrainian. So on that note, the nickname I always imagine them having for Yelena is Lenochka. I feel like Pyotr would give her another nickname, specifically from him meant for her and I love Alyona. Personally I've always hated that he called her Yelena in the comics and not by a diminutive because they have that 'father-daughter' relationship and so he should give her a nickname I feel like.
> 
> Mild trigger warning for undertones of non-con and almost incest since Yelena:  
> a) does not realize that Pyotr is unhealthily into her and so feels violated when she does realize it and   
> b) sees Pyotr as a father figure

**_Moscow, Russia  
_ ** **_The Red Room, 1999  
_ ** Pyotr relished in the sting to his cheek. “Do that again and I’ll hurt you,” he gasped out. 

“I’m sorry, Colonel?” Yelena asked, breathing heavily. The look on her face made Pyotr pause for just a moment longer than was necessary but he quickly smirked and teased her again.

“You heard me, Alyona,” Pyotr stated teasingly, easily blocking her punch aimed at his face. “Do that again, and I’ll  _ hurt  _ you.”

This time there was something in the tone of his voice that made Yelena’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before an equally teasing smirk danced across her face.

“You’ll try, old man!” The young woman laughed, blocking one of his punches with little to no effort.

Pyotr raised an eyebrow, a momentary look of hurt crossing his face fleetingly. “Old? This from a wet-behind-the-ears girl--” he once again blocked one of her punches, “-- with no respect for her  _ betters _ ?” He grunted as he blocked another punch. 

“Hmph!” Yelena scoffed, her annoyance at him effortlessly dodging and blocking her hits making her a hazard to herself. “I beg your pardon, Colonel Starkovsky," -his heart raced as she teasingly said his title- "but if you are better, then you should prove it!” She aimed her leg high, attempting to catch him off guard and kick him in the head. 

To her growing aggravation, the man just ducked low and aimed a kick of his own towards her head. She ducked down effortlessly, then frowned in confusion as he told her to watch her feet.

“But you are -- nhf! -- aiming for my head!” She snapped back, rolling her eyes at his attempt to trick her. 

Pyotr didn’t respond verbally, just kicked her behind the knee. “Balance, Alyona. Always balance!” He quickly hid his proud smile when she caught herself flawlessly and kicked herself into a backflip.  _ ‘That’s my girl!’ _ He thought to himself before stating out loud for her, “Good! Excellent!” When she aimed another kick at him, this one to his core, he dodged and breathed out, “Keep it coming!”

“You are getting slow, Colonel!” Yelena said, almost teasingly again as she wasn’t as bitter with herself for her previous failures anymore. “You are-- nhf!” She grunted as he landed a blow to her ribs but recovered quickly. “-- breaking inside your guard--”

Pyotr shook his head and before Yelena could understand what was happening, she was pinned to the mat with Pyotr holding her left leg over his right shoulder and her right wrist down next to her head. 

“Ah!” Yelena let out a pained moan as the back of her head slammed onto the mat. 

“You broke nothing,” Pyotr gasped out, breathing heavily and leaning down closer so that their foreheads nearly touched. “I let you in,” he breathed out.

Even with her face red and covered in sweat, eyes confused, and hair a right mess, Pyotr thought she was the most attractive thing and he wanted her. She was breathing heavily, chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. Lips slightly parted. She looked good but that wasn't all that Pyotr was attracted to in the young woman. She was smart and fierce, full of fiery passion that often left him shocked to his core and full of want and need.

He’d been hiding his want from her for well over two years now and he couldn’t help his mind racing; he leaned down and slowly pressed his mouth to hers, groaning softly as she gasped. He trailed his fingers softly, so softly and slowly so as not to frighten her, down from her wrist to her elbow all the way to her shoulder. He wanted more, so much more, but knew that this was the first time she was experiencing anything like this and so did not wish to frighten her.

But as she shuddered and gasped under his touch and ministrations, he grew more confident and bold. He gripped her right thigh harder and pulled her even closer to his body. 

This was better than paying Petra for her services. More than anything he wished that this were real. 

But of course, the image is broken when Yelena, real actual Yelena and not his imagined Yelena, squeezed her eyes closed, frustrated tears budding in the corners, and scowled. “Fuck.” She shook her head, clearly frustrated and hating herself.

Pyotr frowned and slowly pulled back from her. He had hoped, for just one moment he had once again allowed himself to hope that she would see him the same way that he saw her.

Instead, Yelena was currently cursing herself. “Damn it! Fucking, damn it!” 

Pyotr slowly rolled off of her and sat up, quickly placing a hand over his growing erection. “Stop that. It happens,” he said, hoping to calm down the irritated woman.

But Yelena shook her head and slammed her fist down onto the mat. With tears still in her eyes she snapped back, “I should have seen it! Romanova would have seen it!”

Pyotr frowned, hurting as he saw her beat herself up. “Alyona!” He snapped, quickly standing and reaching for her. He masked the hurt as she jerked away from his hands.

“She would have!”

“That’s enough!” He yelled. When she still didn’t look up at him he continued, kinder this time. “This is training, Alyona.” At the sound of his calming voice, her shoulders untensed but still she refused to look up from the mat. “You are allowed mistakes. Recriminations do not matter, Alyona, and they do not teach. Natalia Romanova does not matter. What matters is  _ what we do here _ . What we do  _ now _ . What we do  _ together _ ,” he finished gently.

Finally, Yelena turned and looked up at him, doubt still dancing in her wide eyes. When she slowly nodded, Pyotr held his hand out for her to take. 

“And  _ together  _ we are making  _ you  _ the Black Widow.”

Yelena reached up and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She quickly threw her arms around Pyotr’s neck and sighed. Where Yelena was allowing herself this moment of weakness in order to take this comfort from her paternal figure, Pyotr was taking far more pleasure from having her lithe body pressed so closely, so willingly, to his own.

Before his imagination could get away from him again, Yelena was pulling back and readying herself for another match. “Again?”

She nodded fiercely, eyes full of determination. “Again.”

Pyotr nodded but thought to himself that he would have to slip away soon to see Petra. He had a problem that only she could fix for him now.

* * *

**_Moscow, Russia  
_ ** **_The Red Room, 1999  
_ ** It was late at night and Yelena was sitting in her dorm-like bedroom, waiting for sleep to overtake her. Now that Yelena had officially claimed the title of being the Black Widow she had time to process everything she had recently learned. The idea that Pyotr had been obsessed with her and that that obsession had led to his death was still such a foreign thought to her. It made her feel so alone as she now second guessed every word and action of affection he’d ever given her.

‘ _ How long was he… how long did he want me? _ ’ Yelena thought to herself. Just thinking it made her shudder.

She thought back to when she was fifteen and told that she was to be trained to be the new Black Widow, that she was chosen to replace Romanova as the representative of her nation. How Pyotr had given her just the barest hint of a smile, the upturn of the corner of his mouth really, when she had nervously saluted to him.

How as she had trained and other higher up officers had sneered at her, called her forms sloppy and said that she would never be good enough. That she was no Natalia Romanova. But Pyotr would gently nudge her chin and have her look him in the eyes as he told her, “Do not listen to them, Alyona. You will be better than Romanova. I promise. Together we will make you the Black Widow.” 

She had always found such comfort in his assurances. Had let her eyes flutter closed and her heart to feel at peace as the man she was coming to see as more of a father than her actual father told her she mattered. That she was more than enough. That she was not pathetic.

Every secret hug he’d given her.

Every time that he had touched her shoulder. 

Or held her face between his hands and kissed her forehead, promising her that she was not useless or stupid.

_'Was it all lies? Did he just want to-'_ She threw her pillow across the room and blinked back her tears. She hated this doubt that she was feeling. Pyotr had been like a father to her. She had loved him with her whole heart as a daughter. Knowing the lengths he went to in order to replace her, make a copy of her in a sense, so that he could… 

Yelena shuddered, eyes squeezed shut.

_ ‘How many times did he want to do that to me?’ _ She thought back to the first time she’d seen Petra. How the woman had been whipping a tied up man.  _ ‘How often did he think of me doing that to him?’ _

That thought made Yelena jerk from her bed, fall to the floor, and collapse in a dry heaving mess.

She felt dirty, violated in a sense. Much like how she’d felt when Nikki had been trailing the whip across Yelena’s abdomen and then demeaning her verbally. Yelena wrapped her arms around herself and blinked tears back. 

She was the  _ Black Widow _ .

She had  _ earned  _ that title. Fought and pushed her way to the top. Killed for that title.

The Black Widow was not supposed to be a weak, simpering little girl.

_ So why was it that that’s all she felt like? _

And even after learning how Pyotr had obsessed over her, why did she still find herself missing him? Loving him? Wanting for him to wrap her in a quick hug and promise her that she was enough? That she had done splendid? That she had earned the title of Black Widow? 

She picked herself up and made her way to the bathroom and shoved her feelings of grief and confusion and hurt deep down, no longer able to process them. She hoped that a shower would make her feel less dirty. 


End file.
